


Cleaving

by lily_briscoe



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_briscoe/pseuds/lily_briscoe
Summary: Yet another post-kiss fic on Patsy and Delia's reunion.





	Cleaving

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of the series 6 finale that I wrote and somehow never posted. Better late than never, I suppose! My version of what happened post-kiss (one of many, but read if you wish). Hope you enjoy!

**Cleaving**

_cleave_

_/klēv/_

  1. _**v.** to split or sever (something), especially along a natural line or grain; to make a way through (something) forcefully, as if splitting it apart_
  2. _**v.** to stick fast to; to become very strongly involved with or emotionally attached to (someone)_



 

They walk back toward Nonnatus as casually as they can manage, adrenaline fissioning through their bodies so viscerally that it truly feels chemical. Patsy’s white plimsolls stroll whimsically beneath the cuffs of her jeans, her hands buried in her trench pockets as she bites her lip. And she’s the one who’s always had her knickers in a twist about being more discreet. Delia’s seen butch girls at the Gates with less obvious sartorial choices. She’ll have to sit her down for a talk about that. A very thorough talk.

And yet it was Patsy who had tugged on her lapel, had caught her lips as they fell into each other. It had been practiced, easy; the curl of her fingers into that titian hair, the glide of her thumb along the skin of a temple, the graze of her tongue against those teeth had all been muscle memory. Discretion had been, and is, as Delia sets Patsy’s case on the floor of her room, the furthest thing from their minds.

Delia turns to find her lover leaning against the door, blue-striped button-down tucked into her Levi’s like a teddy boy perched on a stoop having a smoke. God, does she want this woman. This maddening, infuriating, utterly desirable woman.

“I thought you were a vision at first.”

Delia pauses, shocked by her own ability to form words in the face of her roiling emotions.

“Silhouetted there by the phone box. Until I held your hand, I…I couldn’t be sure.”

Patsy pushes off the door, her eyes equal parts penitent and predatory, as she sidles up to the brunette. She allows her lips to hover over Delia’s for the briefest of moments before bringing them to her neck, pinching the skin with her teeth and soothing the sting with the flat of her tongue.

“Real enough for you?”

Delia swallows hard, nodding as she fights to even her breathing.

“Quite.”

Patsy smirks devilishly, and the brunette narrows her eyes at her – an admonishment and a challenge. _You’re not off the hook yet, Patience_ and _Touch me, you fool_ war with each other in a single glance.

The redhead, perceptive as ever, picks up on each sign, slowly circling her lover’s body until she comes to stand flush with her back, resting her chin on a quivering shoulder.

“Now you do have me, Busby,” she purrs, her lips grazing the shell of an ear, “what do you plan to do with me?”

Delia leans back into the soft yet solid form behind her, another reassurance as her lingering disbelief begins to fade.

“Throttle you, for one thing.”

Patsy chuckles softly, self-deprecating, and weaves her hands through the brunette’s on her stomach.

“Take you to bed, for another.”

This time, a hitched breath meets the back of Delia’s neck.

“Take you, and give myself to you.”

“Darling.”

It is hushed, broken, and so filled with love, a kiss its accompanying blessing, and suddenly Delia needs to see her, needs all of her, overwhelming her, consuming her.

A soft whimper is all she gives in warning before turning to frame Patsy’s face in her palms, hands smoothing over alabaster as she unceremoniously topples her lover onto the bed. Their teeth knock together and the redhead’s feet are still hanging off the mattress but she could not care less because she is here, she is here and nothing has changed at all, at all.

Her breath still catches sharply when Patsy takes her breast in her mouth. She still finds red hair beneath her hands as Patsy’s tongue works some kind of magic on her for which she’ll never have a name. Her back curves in the same way when long, slender fingers curl into the same spot over and over, and the same constellations meet her eyes when she loses all semblance of control.

And Patsy tastes the same, and feels the same, and loses her breath in hitches and starts as she always does. Her moans follow the same key, and she says, “Oh God,” exactly four times before she comes, like clockwork.

And yet as they lie curled into each other, skin and limbs and lips fully aligned, Delia is aware that something has changed. The Pats who’d left her pining nine months before would have arrived home in linen slacks or a dress, would have pulled them into the phone box or insisted they wait to be behind closed doors before sharing a heated embrace.

She wouldn’t have thrown her arms around her as she kissed her like her lips were her lifeblood in the middle of the street, denim and button-down and all.

Change hasn’t been particularly kind to them the past few years, Delia thinks, but this change is tinged with more than hope: it bears the mark of fearlessness, the burn of unchecked passion, and the trappings of that most dangerous and most beautiful thing of all – happiness.

And so she takes that fearlessness, that passion, that happiness, and pulls Patsy to her once more. Talk is for the morning; the night is for this, for worshipping her lover’s body, bending its pliancy to her will until it collapses in blissful exhaustion. For relinquishing her body in turn, giving herself up fully to pleasure too long deferred, letting tears borne of joy, not of pain, seep into her lover’s skin rather than her pillow. For burying herself in a body she knows like the back of her hand yet never ceases to amaze her.

The night is their time, and while they have it, Delia will cling to her lover with everything she has, until daylight can shine on their joined hands without casting a shadow of fear.

**Author's Note:**

> A little sexier and cheesier than I'd remembered, but I loved writing it, and I hope you loved reading it :) Can't wait till series 7 airs so soon!


End file.
